


Just Another Tuesday

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which THRUSH attempts to hypnotize Napoleon, but Napoleon is unaffected, Illya is worried, and Victor Marton is just plain annoyed with the colossal waste of time.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin & Napoleon Solo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	Just Another Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> Napoleon being able to resist hypnosis and THRUSH’s other mind control techniques was actually inspired by Robert Vaughn’s insistence that he was immune to hypnosis; it was too intriguing a trait not to bring over to Napoleon.

Napoleon had no explanation as to why he was immune to THRUSH’s brainwashing techniques. It wasn’t something he’d intended—indeed, if he had, that would have been even more impressive than it was already.

Nevertheless, no one could say that THRUSH hadn’t tried—drugs, hypno-discs, the classic watch-in-front-of-the-face (they must have been desperate to try _that_ one), and even electroshock treatments (that being the most uncomfortable of the lot), among others. They kept trying, much to Napoleon’s frustration, much to Illya’s worry, and much to the annoyance of Victor Marton, who, after seeing Napoleon dragged in to THRUSH’s Newark outpost yet again, could only respond with a roll of his eyes, and proceeded to contact Waverly the next chance he got to spare everyone the time and effort.

Within an hour, Illya had arrived with a squad of agents to raid the THRUSH outpost as Marton continued to sit at his desk, unperturbed by the goings-on around him—at least until Illya burst into his office, fire burning in his blue eyes as he brandished his Special at him. Though, even then, Marton only seemed slightly inconvenienced.

“Where is Napoleon!?”

“Monsieur Kuryakin, can you not let me finish my coffee, at least?”

Illya’s response was to smack the coffee cup out of Marton’s hand.

“You are finished,” he declared. “And now, I ask you again—where is Napoleon!?”

Still unconcerned with the Special pointed at him, Marton got to his feet.

“If it means that I will be left in peace, follow me; I will take you to your partner.”

“No tricks,” Illya warned.

“Monsieur Kuryakin, I was the one who alerted U.N.C.L.E. to Monsieur Solo’s predicament,” Marton reminded him.

Illya scowled, but did not reply.

Marton unceremoniously led Illya to the lab, opening the door; Illya now left Marton alone as he saw his partner strapped to a vertical lab table—upside-down. There were a couple of electrodes stuck on his forehead and temples and a monitor displaying a hypnotic pattern, but Napoleon seemed otherwise unharmed, focused on trying to wriggle out of his restraints, ignoring the hypnotic pattern completely.

“Napoleon!”

“It’s nice to see you, too, _Tovarisch_ ,” Napoleon returned, trying to keep a cheerful expression to ease Illya’s worries.

“Are you alright?” Illya fretted, as he unstrapped him and then let him gently tumble forward into his arms. Napoleon gracefully somersaulted so that he was right-side up, looking up at Illya from his hold.

“Yeah, I will be,” he promised. “They thought that, somehow, keeping me upside-down and letting all the blood rush to my head would somehow change my susceptibility to hypnosis. I’m not sure how that was supposed to work out; I think they’re grasping at straws now.”

“I told them it was futile,” Marton intoned. He smirked as Napoleon gave him a blank look and Illya gave him a glare. “Ah, _pardon_ ; I will leave you be and get myself a new cup of coffee. And do tell dear Alexander… How do you say it in your language? Ah, _oui_ —he ‘owes me one’!”

“ _Da_ , perhaps when you are strapped to some experimental table, Mr. Waverly will be the one to rescue you?” Illya threw after him.

Marton paused with another smirk.

“…You say that as though he has never done so before,” he tutted.

Illya’s glare flickered slightly, betraying his surprise for a brief moment as Marton left.

“…There’s a story in there somewhere, and someday, I _really_ want to hear it,” Napoleon mused.

“You can worry about that later,” Illya chided. “Right now, I must get you to Medical and ensure that there are no aftereffects.”

Napoleon grumbled a little, but good-naturedly allowed Illya to guide him out and into the car. He leaned against Illya, sneaking some much-needed rest after his ordeal.

Illya was right; he could ponder over Marton and Waverly’s history later. Right now, he would focus on what he had with his partner—a partnership that, unlike Marton and Waverly’s, would never fall apart.


End file.
